Chest Pains

Buried in grounds less sound than the mind,
Exhumed from grass now ashen and burned,
Arises a voice not of choice but of time;
Appointed to speak at the peak of its turn,
Predestined to silence when silence so deems.

Impassioned cries in eyes hid deep
Scream for a moment but relent their way.
Soon-coming years hold tears to weep.
After the passing of gentler days,
Mountains give way unto valleys it seems.

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This entry was posted on 4 January 2007 - Thursday at 1:17 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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